Terminal Hope

I’ve had a lot to think about lately and I’m totally word vomiting here on the screen but it helps me work things out. (A quick shout out to my auntie R who talks things out with me over and over like beating a dead horse which, although probably annoying, helps me see things differently and with better perspective... eventually!)

In talking to her today, I was thinking about how my situation with my ex has really seemed to prove hopeless for me. There are little milestones that I keep putting up with the hope that by the time I get to the next one, things will be better, easier, less stressful. I put a lot of hope into those and then when things don’t really change or don’t change for the better, I abandon all hope and end up frustrated and upset. I was complaining that 14 years is too long of a goal post and that it wouldn’t be enough to sustain me.

But in the midst of admitting that feeling, a non-definitive thought began lurking and so now I’m trying to delve into that. It’s the idea of a terminal kind of hope. If today you were diagnosed with a terminal cancer or disease that would not kill you today or tomorrow or even this year but you know would make your life harder while you lived and maybe even shorten your lifespan, how would you feel? I would like to think that I would fight to find a cure, do my research, look at all up and become the expert and hope like crazy that before my predicted demise, the outlook on my condition had changed. I think people who experience that kind of thing may develop a long-term hope. Or maybe a long term cope.

Even with hope, the day to day would have to be hard. A friend of a friend of mine has crohn’s disease which may shorten her life but in the meantime, can make it unpleasant at times, limiting her ability to walk for long distances, requiring her to take frequent advantage of her sick time, etc. Her situation is hard. So I wonder what exactly keeps her going?

Well it’s kind of interesting because if you just saw her today, you wouldn’t know anything was wrong. She lives a normal life even though it’s not what is normal for me. So I don’t think that the answer is to paste on a happy grin and make like everything is swell. I don’t think it’s pretending to family and friends that you have it all together.

I think hope has to come in the little things. Hope that tomorrow night I will have fun with my son and friends and Chuckie Cheese. Hope that the girls night out that I’m going to miss won’t be too much fun without me and that I’ll be able to catch the next one (or the next one or the next one...). Hope that Saturday will be full of new adventures. Hope that we will laugh and smile and run and giggle and that the time that we have that really is so precious will not be wasted on things that don’t matter. Hope that family and friends and those that love will not get too tired of the word vomit and talking out the same endless circle. Hope, not that the world will change tomorrow from blue to pink… but hope that instead when I look out at the blue world, I will find in it the beautiful shades of azure.

When I have good things happen or I have a rejuvenating weekend or get a glimpse into a new perspective, sometimes I take that as a sign or proof that things are going to improve. I feel happy... things must be getting better! Then when the day to day doesn't really change, I let my hopes dash again. But maybe true hope isn't the expectation that because I had a great weekend that the next week is going to be wonderful and I've started on this long road that leads straight up with no pitfalls or potholes. Hope is knowing that you have a Hummer that can make the hilly drive and hit the potholes without crashing and nose diving into a ravine. Hope is knowing that even though the journey is tenuous, it's a good ride and worth the price of gas.

I think I am getting close to ending my belief in happy endings. And that’s ok. As long as I don’t give up my hope of happy livings. The end doesn’t matter. As it has been said so many times before… it’s the getting there that counts.